


And I'll Still Believe

by saaliyah



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Regency, I think I may be banned from the, M/M, Pining, Regency Romance, The mortifying ordeal of someone tying your cravat for you, aziraphale's favorite knot is the mathematical knot, i spent twenty minutes researching regency cravat knots so you could share in that knowledge, tag for over use, there is a kiss i promise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-11
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2020-08-19 00:48:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20200963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saaliyah/pseuds/saaliyah
Summary: quote from my tumblr"haha what if i just wrote 500 words about haha aziraphale retying Crowleys haha get this cravat tenderly softly brushing fingertips against the hollow of his throat haha wouldnt that be wild haha ha h-"





	And I'll Still Believe

The word neck has evolved to be inexplicably variable in meanings. The first (n.) being that part of your body that kindly keeps your head attached to it.

However if one is to neck, necks, necking, one is

  * swallowing (something, especially a drink, or perhaps a feeling you have tried to keep buried for some millennia)
  * forming a narrowed part at a particular point when subjected to tension like the knot at the end of a cravat
  * and thirdly, kissing and caressing amorously with someone you feel quite amorous about

He lets out a deep sigh. This argument is not new. No, Crowley is certain even the words are the same. It is their ritual at this point, each part integral to the process.

(older than any living religion)

And though he rather likes that they have something which only existence is as theirs, that does not beget his exhaustion. Crowley shakes his head in acceptance of the angel's side. For now. Then he turns on his heel to head back into the main house.

“Oh, Crowley, wait-,” and there is Aziraphale’s hand on his collar, on the loose tie of his cravat. He can feel the slight brush of his fingers under his chin, the tap of a bent knuckle against his throat. Is his mouth watering? Is he breathing? Is this rhythm too fast? Or worse, slow and languid and spilling secrets concealed in his lungs? He does not know. He knows only of Aziraphale’s deft fingers working the knot undone.

(working him undone)

He slides the cravat from under his collar and holds it loosely in his hand, his fingers woven into the folds. They are deceptive, Crowley thinks. Long and delicate in their form, unmarked but by a single gold ring. But they once held a sword burning bright as it tore through divine wings. The thought does not make him afraid. Yes, there was once an Aziraphale before Earth. But that is not who holds his throat in his hands.

People change. Angels too.

(perhaps even demons)

Aziraphale takes one end of the tie and reaches up along the left of Crowley’s neck. Then his right hand goes along the other side to meet it and for a moment, a single moment, Crowley is enraptured in something heavenly. Encased, surrounded...held. And then the angel’s hands take hold of both ends and slide back down his front. Fold one. Two. Three. Three of Aziraphale's fingers pinned against pleats.

(three of Aziraphale’s fingers pinned against the hollow of his throat)

Aziraphale's gaze is locked on the tie.

(on him, on his skin, on his neck, he feels like he is captured, like this is secret)

And then their looks meet and Crowley is desperate to be any place than other than here. He looks up for some form of escape, it is unbearable, it is unthinkable - Their eyes meet.

Crowley will not move if it kills him where he stands. He instead creates a catalog in this pause of time. There are gold flecks in the white of the angel's eyes. Along the length of his eyelashes. If he truly took the time to search and to cherish, he is certain he would find it all over. And there is something else. Something behind his eyes and he tilts his head as if to get a better look. It feels familiar, it feels like coming home to a fire already on, it feels like-

(he is getting closer, his hands are shaking at his sides)

And then with unparalleled swiftness, the final knot at his throat is pulled tight and Crowley is caught off balance.

“There,” Aziraphale lays his hand flat against the tie to catch him. His fingers are curled along his collar. They stay there, Crowley suspended just a small breadth from Aziraphale. He ponders what it would be like to take on and close the distance. Perhaps he has been a coward too long. Is there any courage left in these old bones?

The angel moves his hands to Crowley's shoulders and helps him stand upright. And then gently, slow and languid pulls them back to his chest. He wonders what secrets they guard there, over his heart.

“Much better.”

(no)

"No."

"No?" There is confusion written all over his face, the way his brows knit upwards. Crowley is especially proud he can read this map for once. He bites his lip. Perhaps he should he turn back? Say thank you and brush past and out of the room? He is not a brave man. He can imagine several eternities where this all goes wrong.

(but he knows what he saw in those eyes, he is sure)

And his hands are now holding on to the ends of Aziraphale's tie, pulling him back in, closing the gap.

He is absolute when Aziraphale kisses back. This is new. But Crowley is certain his religion will accommodate.

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me at @saaliyah on tumblr for more tenderness in fics, art, and gifsets. Thanks for reading!


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